


By Any Other Name

by AbsinthexMind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Breasts, Comfort, Dress Up, Dresses, Embarrassment, F/F, Self-Esteem Issues, Shame, Touching, Touchy-Feely, half-naked, whisper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsinthexMind/pseuds/AbsinthexMind
Summary: You hoped that you would look as pretty in Margaery's clothes. Boy were you wrong and now you were paying an embarrassing price.
Relationships: Margaery Tyrell/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually requested on AO3 by SweetPsycho. Hope it's at least close to what you requested ^^'

Beads, sequins and satin composed many of Margaery’s finest gowns. Made specifically for the lovely Lady of High Garden, matching her beauty in return. You adored how she looked in them, the confidence and power she possessed when she walked around in her hand-crafted dresses. Margaery knew of the allure she held and perfected it so that she may use it to her advantage. 

The embroidery was to be admired as many depicted intricate roses stitched on to the bodices, securing the sequins safely to the fabric. 

Making sure there was no one around, you slip one of Margaery’s gowns off of its hanger and pull it on to your own body. You had plenty of nice dresses yourself, but being only a lady-in-waiting they weren’t as extravagant as Margaery’s. They were modest and cute, giving you a very docile appearance opposed to the daunting sexual energy of Lady Margaery. You wondered if you would have the same aura if given the chance to wear one of her dresses. 

Unfortunately it was not to be. Everything felt so wrong. Pinching in areas it shouldn’t be, loose where it should be hugging. Of course it wouldn’t fit. You weren't Margaery. You looked like a child playing dress up. A fool you had been to even dare to entertain the idea that you could wear it just as well. 

“Oh (y/n)! Look at you!” Margaery’s squeal had you immediately panicking and struggling to get the dress off. “No, no! Don’t. . . Why are you crying?” 

In a frustrated whimper, you spin around to face her in your shame. “I’m sorry, my lady. I wanted to try on one of your gowns. They always look so beautiful on you. But-” Agitated, you pull at the fabric that seemed to now be tightening around you like a snake squeezing its prey to death. The more you tried to hurry and remove it, the tighter it grew. “-it doesn’t fit. I was stupid. I’m so sorry!” 

Margaery hushes you in that gentle tone of her’s. Honey and sweetness swim in her gaze as she lifts your face up. “There is nothing to apologize for (y/n). It’s okay. Just calm down.” 

With a small sniffle you will your tears to stop and allow Margaery to help you out of her suffocating dress. Both of you grunt and squirm for a while until you are freed. 

“This dress did not want to come off!” She half-heartedly chuckles before she notices your solemn face as you cover your bare chest with your arm. Her smile melts as she tosses the dress aside to tend to you. “What’s wrong? I told you there was no harm done.” 

“I. . . I just feel so stupid. That dress was made just for you. Of course it wouldn’t fit me. My body. . .” You bite back whatever sob wanted to bubble up in your throat and shake your head, not wanting to continue. 

“If it had fit properly you would have looked so beautiful. I can have a seamstress make you one! We can be matching. That would be fun!” 

When she saw her offer didn’t make you feel better, genuine worry crossed her face. “Talk to me, please. What’s bothering you?” 

You didn’t want to. You wanted Margaery to pretend this didn’t happen. All words lay heavy inside of you choking everything into silence. 

Even looking as worried as she did your lady was still the epitome of loveliness. “It wouldn’t matter if you got me an identical dress. It wouldn’t look good on me because I’m not you. You’re the one that makes the gowns beautiful. Your curves and personality, I lack both. Even in an exquisite piece of work, it would fall short because of me.” Your cheeks burned as you confessed all of this. How did you look right now? Half-naked and pathetic probably. A weak, simpering creature that didn’t even deserve to attend Margaery. She should just send you back home, even if it would disgrace your family. That would be less painful than disappointing Margaery. 

“And who told you that?” 

Confused, you reply “No one.” 

Margaery shakes her head and at first you fear you’ve displeased her. Finely sculpted eyebrows are tightly furrowed, plump lips pursed. Abruptly she pulls you up and escorts you to a tall mirror. “I want you to take a good look at yourself, (y/n).” Gentle hands turn your face towards your reflection and coaxed your arm to lower; revealing your breast. “Look at that refined bridge of your nose.” Her index finger runs along your nose before trickling down to your lips. “And these lips that love to laugh so much. Your laugh is the best thing in the world.” 

Your skin must have been blazing hot as her hands continued to roam. Surprisingly you didn’t mind. Her caresses made you involuntarily shiver. 

Her lips tickle your ear as she whispers to you “Your body may not be like mine but that doesn’t make you any less lovely. I love it for its differences. I think you’re beautiful. I will not tolerate you or anyone else speaking badly of you and your body. 

She had been so close to you that you felt her absence immediately when Margery moved away from you to pick up your forgotten clothes. Aware of your chest bare for all to see, you throw your arm over once again. Under Margaery’s trance, you had forgotten about your lack of garments. Of course it wouldn’t be the first time that Margaery had seen you naked. As her favorite, you had the honor of bathing with her. Nothing was new and yet something was. 

“Put this on. We are going to the seamstress!” Cheerily singing, Margaery happily watches you as you dress. 

“Why? I told you that I don’t need a dress that looks like your’s.” 

“Oh I know. I just want to spoil you and make a point. We’ll get you perfectly fitted for a gown even more beautiful than the ones I wear. Next time we have a banquet, others will see you the way I do. Just don’t go flirting with too many young lords. I might get jealous.” 

At that you laugh, never knowing how serious Margaery was.


End file.
